


A Tale of Feathers and Dark; Tainted Love

by beauty_love_stardust



Category: Forrest Gump (1994)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Depression, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotions, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Loss of Virginity, Love, Parent/Child Incest, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, References to Depression, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sex, True Love, Vaginal Sex, Virginity, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2020-10-14 03:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beauty_love_stardust/pseuds/beauty_love_stardust
Summary: I never wanted to twist what was good in him...never wanted to become my father.Jenny has never been comfortable in her own skin. And she has never wanted to taint the one person that is pure innocence. But that becomes impossible when Forrest looks at her with those gentle eyes and asks again...





	1. Part 1; Something Sweet and Bitter.

**Author's Note:**

> There are so few fanfiction works written for Forrest and Jenny that I decided to take on the challenge myself. I have always adored this pairing, ever since I first watched the movie years ago. I hope I do them justice in my writing. They are both highly complex characters to grasp. I plan to make this three or possibly four parts. I have yet to decide.

**Part 1; Something Sweet and Bitter.**

* * *

> _It was always_
> 
> _you._

* * *

I’ve loved him, for as long as I can rightly recall. That moment our optics met—like destiny, on that old yellow school bus.

Fate.

I never believed in either of those concepts.

Not fate. Not destiny. Until Forrest.

He made me _believe_.

Years of holding the soft palm of his hand, against my own, listening to the gentle array of stories flow from his simple mind. I let myself believe in hope—in love.

I wished each night I laid underneath the brutal frame of my father for it to be Forrest. Those gentle, tender little touches he’d give when we spent time together.

The love I saw reflected in his hues. I was unworthy of such love. Such innocence.

After enduring so much. Feeling the pulsing thickness of that drunken bastard as he ravaged me. How could I ever be pure enough for Forrest? —For anyone good?

I ache when he gives me those heartbroken looks. When he waits for me, as I dash off into the wind. Onto the next adventure.

When we were dirt-covered children playing in the fields until the sunset everything was different. Simpler.

We loved, but there had been some innocence in both of us. Life stole that bit of innocence clear away from me, by the time I recognized Forrest as nearly a man.

The thin, wiry little boy faded into a handsomely muscled man. Despite mental incapacities, he carried that torch for me still.

I recognized jealousy—disdain—in those pale-blue optics every time I kissed another man. But I couldn’t find worth in myself. I couldn’t see what he saw.

Even now, nursing the chilled bottle of beer listening to the crickets hum out in the darkness; I felt the pull of him.

Ever present like the flow of water to a stream. I’d felt his touch linger just a second longer than usual. Heard the slightly inebriated call from his petals. Innocent. Sweet.

He wanted a wife. Someone whole that could provide him all the love he deserved.

He wanted me. But he can never understand why I can’t be his wife.

Why we can never be whole together.

I recognized that same pain etched into the features of his face that had been there for the duration of our lives. Placed there by me.

My reluctance to wed him.

Downing another swig, I stand. Letting the wind lick at my shoulders blowing through the strands of my hair.

After hours of little swigs; a shaky hand taking a drag from the long stem of multiple cigarettes the tears had dried on my cheeks.

The pull stronger than I could withstand.

No more. I cannot take an instant more.

Hearing the clack of metal against wood the screen door shut behind me. Faint footfalls the only indication I returned to the house.

All was quiet.

He’d tucked himself into bed.

Laid there with unseeing conflict in those troubled optics. I burned with the need to love. To forget the past that lingered just at the edges of my vision.

I longed and ached inside my heart for Forrest.

Despite my forthcomings, I moved to straddle his waist. Drawing back the covers to bunch behind me. His wide eyes bulged.

“Jennay—”

My name resounded in the night. I want him to have a taste of marital bliss. Did I not owe him that after all these years? Horrific memories clouded my thoughts.

“I do love you, Forrest.” And I do. I always have.

I guided his gentle soft hands to my waist. And silenced him with a kiss.

His lips molded to mine. And I knew right then, that I was his first.

First kiss. First love. First woman.

Forrest never laid with another. He was not like me.

Pure. Loving Forrest—**_waited_** for me.

I slid explorative fingers down against his blue pajama bottoms. Thumbing his bulge just through the fabric. He squirmed underneath my touch. Bucked up. And the kiss deepened.

I taught him how. Let him learn as I opened my mouth. My tongue dragged along his. Tasting. Invading him.

Timidly. He pushed his against mine. And whined as I found a particularly sensitive spot on his prick. Already, excitement was fueling the bulge to rouse. Hot with blood. Swollen to twice its normal size. Although his mind was simple, he was still a hot-blooded male.

Inwardly, I wondered if he knew how to make love. If he understood the complexity of such motions. I didn’t. I have never made love. Only been fucked.

I wanted to inquire. But I did not know how.

And then, he shocked me.

Lifting me around my midriff, my back met the sheets. I splayed for him out of instinct. He nestled right betwixt my thighs. His roaming hands so much more confident than the first time I touched him in college.

Still gentle though. Forrest was _naturally_ gentle.

I know how he must want and ache like any untouched man would but he is somehow still more inclined to give than take.

I knew he must believe that I would give him more than one night. One simple night.

But this could not be more than tonight. I am unfit to be his wife.

What did either of us know about married life? He proposed to me with words. There was no ring, nor did he bend to one knee. I doubt he even knows the formality of proposal. Not that it would have made much difference.

I do not **_deserve_** to wear white.

I am too sullied to wear that color—too impure.

Unlike my father—unlike every other man that I have ever had on top of me—Forrest is hesitant. I can taste the mint on his breath from his toothpaste. Feel the power in his biceps where he held fast to my middle.

He needed a push. I was inclined to give him one.

I wormed the fabric of my nightdress over my head. Let it sink down to the floorboards below. His cheeks flushed with color—eyes swarmed with warmth and I could nearly hear his heartbeat. I felt it thrum underneath his skin where his fingers now pressed to my cheek.

“You can touch me Forrest. You need not be afraid.” I lifted a hand and brushed across his chest—down until I met with the firm heat between his thighs. He made a heavy noise in his throat. And I recalled the last time I touched him there. The only other time I let him touch me.

He didn’t squirm and burst like the first time. Not even as I coaxed my palm up to graze the sensitive, bulbous tip.

He clenched his muscles and instinctively initiated a kiss. It was pleasant and wholly unexpected all at once. He was so gentle when he kissed me. He wanted to savor the moment and that much was made pertinent when he made to still my hand and draw it away from where I palmed and touched him.

I am used to fast and hard. Rough and impersonal.

Forrest wanted something different. He wanted the emotions that came with it. Attachment—Love…

I wish I knew how to love the way he needs me too.

I can _try_—I promised myself I would try; for Forrest.

He has always been a man of so few words. He doesn’t articulate his needs. He doesn’t always have to. Not with me.

Rather, he shows me what he wants.

My nakedness is all the push he needed to finally seek to explore me. But he is **_still_** not rough. With gentle, long strokes he brushes down the swell of my breasts. Thumbs the rosebud points of my nipples until they are pert and erect. I gasp into his mouth and his opens instinctively around mine to swallow my noises.

His hands trembled as he brushes the length of my taut belly. Traced the scars left by my father when he had too much to drink. And made to kiss each one when his mouth finally separated from mine. I shuddered—and nearly cried when I saw the understanding in his ocean-eyes. The mountain of pain reflected back at me with his stare.

He kissed until every scar had wet patches left behind from his attentions. And I was left feeling barer than I ever had to another human soul.

When his lips reconnected with mine, I tasted him with fervor and dragged my tongue along his bottom pleat. I suddenly needed to feel the press of his warm skin to mine. I ferreted the buttons of his shirt through their holes. Pushed on the cotton fabric until it rolled down his shoulders and lay discarded feet away on his sheets. My fingers found his warmth and brushed either of his pecks. Let his heat scorch my fingers and chill my spine.

Forrest always did run hot. When we were children, I would nuzzle close to him and bask in his heat on the colder evenings. I never wanted to go home. I would stall as long as humanly possible—and Forrest never asked why.

My heat was spread wide for him and I could feel the tent of his pajama pants prod me through the fabric. I want to feel him—I have never wanted to feel a man more than I do in this moment. I may be unused to the gentility he invokes with me; but I am already fond of it.

He doesn’t prevent me as I tear down his bottoms, and he wiggles free of them with a kick that sends them soaring to the floor.

Finally. We are skin to skin and pressed so close we can feel each other completely. I devour his lips and let my hand roam free to brush his erection. The last time I touched him it was through a robe. I never felt the skin. I had a pretty good idea of his size and girth from that night—from the bulge I have felt since I climbed astride him this night—but couldn’t have imagined just how well-endowed Forrest actually is.

Not massively so, but enough to make me reel with the proof of it.

“Please Forrest…” I found myself pleading against the swell of his perfectly plump pout. His skin was grazed with red and eyes calming as the sunset.

He hesitated—there was such control in his muscles—in his eyes. More control than could possibly be contained in my heart.

“You will be my wife, Jennay?” It should have been confirmation—but was posed as a question by his simple mind.

I nearly sobbed. I felt the tears welled at the rims of my eyes from his slew of intimate kisses threaten to spill over. He was innocent—too innocent. I wish I could feel as though I were not taking advantage of him in this moment. His eyes were trusting like that of a tamed horse. And more loyal than a canine companion.

I couldn’t lie to him—I couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him what he wanted to hear. I was never fit to be a housewife. To be pretty in a trim-cut dress with curls in my hair and a faux smile on my lips. He deserved better than me.

He deserves to have a woman that will stay for him.

Share his bed for more than just a night of simplicity and need.

“Forrest…” I managed to croak out—then leaned up to distract him with a kiss. It worked—and my belly turned with wrenching self-disdain.

Of course, he believed I would marry him. Be his beautiful bride in a pretty white dress. And for tonight I would let him have that fantasy. Tonight, the alcohol was buzzed into my mind—into my system and flowing through my veins. Tonight—I would be his bride in the pretty white dress. Let him envision what he needed to find a home inside of me.

I’m not a whore tonight. I am not a bitch or a slut like Wesley and my father used to call me. Tonight, I am Forrest’s wife. I am pure and pretty like Forrest believes me to be.

“I will be good to you, Jennay.” His whisper tickled the shell of my ear and washed down my neck. My spine shivered with emotion and I fought back tears a second time.

He did not expect an answer. Instead, he sought out the warm opening between my thighs. Pushed with his fingers against my sex until he found that wet hole. Then, with careful precision—he pushed inside.

My toes curled on instinct and my arms draped around his middle. Nails dug deep into his back. I cried into his mouth and shuddered—then gasped. He swallowed my moans and kissed with exquisite power I never knew he possessed. His thrusts were tender and drove deep. Wedged to the hilt inside of me—he touched places I didn’t know existed inside of me.

I wanted to sink into this moment—and never come up for air. I kissed him and tasted him as though my life depended upon it. I dragged my nails down his back and left marks on his skin—but he only moaned in response. Panted against my lips and nudged my nose with his. He was playful—yet calm—and needy, yet reserved all at once.

Every drive of his hips jolted my bodice and rippled my skin. I tightened my legs up and around his middle. And he gained traction by lowering his arms to the bedsheets only to guide himself in deeper. I moaned in ecstasy and our tongues tangled together. As he drew closer to his release his thrusts came quicker and sloppier. Sweat beaded on his forehead and spread through his body until his skin was fully clammy.

His noises heightened—as did mine.

He reached down unabated and thumbed the bud at the top of my apex. Most men pawed at me there with roughness without skill, or care. But Forrest was responsive and quick to learn through the sound of my noises. When they rose in level—he proceeded to touch me just where he did when the heightened sounds began. He had me on edge in seconds—and when he exploded with pleasure—I did too.

He wouldn’t know about protection and risks. Nor would he know to pull out so that he might pepper my thighs with his release instead of my insides. But I made no move to prevent him. He wanted a wife—and a wife he had.

This was my gift to him; an experience unthwarted by latex and worries. Despite my unwillingness to cement what I felt for him on paper—I did love him. Forrest would always be the man I love. And I caught a glimpse of how life would be every night if I accepted his proposal. The passion and heat shared between us. The chance to be loved this way for the rest of my days…

I listened to Forrest pant in my ear. Felt him nuzzle his face into my neck and sigh against my skin.

I wondered, briefly, if he knew how babies came to be. He knew what it was to be with a woman, but did he know of the consequences? I was too ashamed of myself to ask. I thought of all the times he asked before for me to be his wife. I remember that he has called me his girl ever since we were children. And every time he did, I couldn’t help but ponder if he knew what it meant.

I always peek back on our encounter in college and feel sick to my stomach. I remember the blushing tinge on his cheeks. The embarrassment written on his face. I always distinctly believed I would ruin him. Not only ruin Forrest but traumatize him.

His mind is innocent like that of a child’s. And my deepest fear was that I would scare him—initiate an unwanted touch or movement. I feared that I would become like my father. He appeared to understand the brunt of what I endured, then. It was unspoken in the air between us when he kissed my scars. I never told him back then—but had he always known?

Did Forrest want a family? Or just a wife?

He never spoke to me of his future. Perhaps in his mind, the future had always been ours. Together, as a family.

If he wanted babies, then he wanted mine. His mind worked simpler than anyone else I knew. Far simpler than my own ever could.

Even as he came to rest overtop my tired form, I wondered what it was that he was thinking. How cruel it would be for him to awaken without the warm shape of me at his side. Would he mourn this? I have never understood what he glimpses when he sees me.

In the mirror—I face a wreck of a female. My stringy blond-hair and tired cerulean eyes gaze back at me in a taunt. I am reminded of every inferiority that separates me from Forrest’s impeccability. I have stained his imperfection with my own selfish desire this eve.

I stripped us bare and made a man of him.

He will never again be chaste. And I ruined that in him.

When he managed to regain his breath, Forrest shifted to lay alongside me. Air sucked into his lungs and out through his mouth and I felt it tickle across my upper-arm. Goosebumps rose up and I shivered.

Forrest told me earlier that he understood what it was to love. And I wish that I could return such a sentiment. Even when he made me his own Forrest managed to express love in the act itself. There had been no hate—no force. Pure unadulterated tenderness had reflected in his eyes. How had I invoked such devotion in him? I often pondered that question over the years.

Light circles were traced with his fingertip across my chest. His touch so light I could hardly feel it there. He did not need to use words for me to understand what he felt in his heart.

Which caused mine to sink further. Way down into my stomach.

Had I broken him? Would I break him tomorrow when I leave?

I refused to think about it.

We have tonight.

Tonight—I am his wife.

And as sleep finally came to call—I let his arm wind loosely about my waist and faded into dreams of a better life. A life as the pretty bride in white lace and silk. In Forrest’s bed. As Forrest’s wife.

* * *

Sunrays came to wake me. I prickled with the dark settle of fuzziness that overshadowed my vision and clouded my mind. The stale taste of alcohol was bitter on my tongue as I came into the knowledge of what I had done last night. Of what I said to Forrest—what he believes I just promised him.

He was naked as his day of birth. Sprawled with the covers askew across the small twin bed. We were tangled together in limbs and blankets the pair of us too big to squeeze together on this tiny mattress. When we were children a twin bed could sustain us both. This was his childhood bed. Even the pajama’s I helped strip him of were in the ballpark of nightclothes a child would wear. Every man I slept with previously had worn boxers to bed each night. Forrest still wore the same pajama’s he wore when we slept here as children.

Even asleep, Forrest appeared peaceful. The corners of his lips were turned up and his face was perfectly still and untensed. Despite what I know I must do; I have always loved Forrest. I love the way he smiles at me which causes his ocean-eyes to light up distinctly. And how he listens even when he doesn’t fully comprehend what it is, I am saying.

And how he is there for me. Always. Without fail.

He is my best friend.

My only friend in the world.

And I have made a man of him.

I cannot fathom the line I stepped across. The boundaries I dashed to the wind when I stepped into his bedroom last night. How can I expect to return to masquerading as his best friend now? How can I stay with him?

I can’t.

Tears swelled up in my eyes and I felt my heart pull and tear with the weight of what I had done. I took advantage of his love for me. The elusive pull between us whenever we are alone together. I do not know if I can forgive myself for it. For any of it.

Forrest is fragile in some ways. He can be broken if the right pressure is applied to the right places and I am afraid. So afraid that I may finally have damaged what is whole and pure in him. One night could leave behind an irreparable tear in him.

I shifted into an upright position with quite a bit of persuasion from my body. I untwisted my leg from around his. In his sleep his protective arm had released its hold on my waist and moved to crane beside his head at an awkward ankle. And his other limbs had twisted in the sheets and blankets, as had mine. We were both uncovered. And I shivered from the mild chill in his bedroom.

“Jennay?” I had finally detangled myself and was just at the edge of the bed ready to stand when my name cut through the air.

I turned my head back toward him. I was still bare not having thought to reach for a blanket to cover myself. My plan was to detach myself from him and scamper out before he would wake or notice but I could not follow through now that he was indeed awake. My movement on the bed must have been enough to wake him up, too.

His eyes were squinted and he brushed sleep from the corners with his hand. Unbending the limb from its awkward angle he struggled into an upright position pulling the tangle of rucked up blankets around his middle right along with him. His bottom half was covered by them but even still I could see his morning wood pressed into the soft cloth.

“Forrest…Go back to sleep I didn’t mean to wake you.” I stumbled over the words as I strung together a sentence. I wanted him to heed my advice so that I could proceed with the walk of shame I had planned out in my mind.

“Where are you going, Jennay?” Although the question was perfectly reasonable, I felt my heart sink into my stomach.

I have only ever been good at running away. Forrest cannot understand the reasons why I cannot stay and I had not planned to point them out to him. Last night was one of the most intimate and beautiful encounters of my entire existence but I did not deserve a bit of it. Not his kisses, his understanding, his passion—none of it. I think in my mind I have always dislodged and hidden from the truth of what was right in front of me all this time.

I am the love of Forrest’s entire life.

And he is the love of mine.

But I cannot have him. I will not ruin his stainlessness any further than I already have.

His eyes bored into me as he awaited my answer. He only spoke when he had cause to. Oftentimes we communicated without words. Simply existed together.

I sucked in my bottom lip and gave a steady chew for a moment. “I have to go, Forrest. And I don’t think I can come back this time.” The words spilled out before I could stop them. Forrest’s eyes went from bright ocean-wonder to navy-darkness in a blink.

“You don’t want to marry me, Jennay?” His tone dropped and I could see the hurt shine in his eyes. I never wanted to confront him with the reasons. I was determined to forget about our night together—even though I could never regret him—I regret my own weakness for allowing it to occur in the first place.

“Forrest…I can’t marry you. I can’t marry anyone. I wish I could make you understand.”

Further hurt reflected in his eyes and he swallowed a heavy thickness deep in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked them back.

“Don’t go, Jennay… I love you…” To hear him plead shattered something in me. And I could see him lose the battle with his tears. They streamed down his cheeks and wet his face. I never saw Forrest cry. He rarely showed this kind of emotion.

How can I explain the touches and kisses I received as a little girl stayed ruined beneath my skin? Festering like sores that were left unbandaged. Open and hot in the splintering air—left to suffocate and consume me whole along with every good, right thing that comes within breathing distance of me. I know Forrest could never understand how that feels. No one can.

His love is pure and wholesome—and it intoxicates me when I come too close. Like the sun’s burning surface, Forrest scorches me with his light. And I barely know how to handle what I feel when he is near.

I wiped away his tears with my thumb. Brushed the salty wetness clear away.

“I’m not stupid, Jennay…”

I sighed and shook my head. “No Forrest, you are not stupid.” I agreed with him. He was slower than every other man—but never stupid. Not to me. He has his own special way of communicating with the world. And he loves deeply—and for reasons unknown he decided to brandish his love for me.

“But still you don’t want me…” I retracted my hand and stood from his bed. I could not bear to see him stare at me with dread in those eyes. I snatched that light—snuffed it from him.

“No Forrest. I can’t. I’m sorry.” Tears swarmed my vision and consumed the scene before me. Forrest propped upright on his childhood bed. Hands clasped into the sheets below and eyes swimming with identical tears.

He swallowed and made no move to respond. His knuckles turned white against the blue-patterned blanket and his breath shook in his throat. But I saw something else. And I nearly made it to the door—nearly departed from his childhood room—when I heard his voice anew.

“We never have to…I won’t ask again…Please Jennay…Please don’t go away again…”

I stopped at the door. Prevented by my guilt and shame from stepping over that threshold and I turned to view him. I was stunned by how small he appeared. Huddled underneath his child-like bedcoverings. Tears wet on his cheeks; the most potent fear written into his eyes. I realized what it was. 

Fear of **_loneliness_**.

His mother was gone. He lived alone in this massive house that once came alive with boarders. Other people had always been around him. Until now—he only had me. I was **_all_** he had left—and I realized how selfish and cruel I had truly become. My actions ran far deeper than selfish. Sank skin deep in Forrest’s psyche.

I gave him a taste of a dream—one that would splinter me into pieces. Wreck his perfect innocence—and snatched it clear from view.

Last night (ten minutes ago even) I was certain on what my actions would be. I would run and never look behind me. Never return to this lonely two-bit southern town, shrouded in memories and encompassed in my childhood horrors. Now…just viewing him there—like that—I **_know_** I cannot run.

I also know I can never go to bed with him again. I know that path is not in the cards—but neither is running.

Forrest **_needs_** his best friend.

I pray to a _merciful_ God that I can still be his friend.

I cannot bear to think on how much my leaving now would decimate him. I will not become my father. Prone to ruin and wreck any good, pure thing I have.

Carefully, I sought out my nightgown from where it was discarded upon the floorboards. Sank into the sensation of being hidden—shielded—from wandering eyes. And finally, I nodded in complacent agreement.

“I will stay, Forrest. But I cannot marry you.” I saw the hope behind his eyes dwindle. But relief remained a potent emotion.

I could tell there was more behind wistful eyes. Something he yearned to ask me—but he held his tongue. Was he embarrassed? Uncertain? I could not decipher what hung behind those concealing navy-eyes. And I decided that I was not entitled to ask. I had betrayed Forrest. And I felt raw and dead inside.

But this time I had to stay—I **had** to face what I had done. Remedy my mess…Somehow.

“I understand, Jennay.” Is all he would say from his huddled position, still underneath his covers.

I slid from the edge of the bed—tried to tuck every raw, urgent memory from last night out of my mind. Push and force away the drunken hazy bliss into being forgotten. Somehow—I know I will _never_ forget. I can still see his soft-grazing lips touch my quivering belly. As kiss after kiss is laid down on my ugly, brutally scarred skin.

I always find myself in front of mirror—wishing without fail—for every scar to be erased from my skin and my heart. So that I might finally be the woman worthy of a man like Forrest. But instead I see that little girl—want in her heart to be left innocent and carefree with her best friend primed to become her soulmate—who is instead robbed of every possible innocence.

I do not know how to move on from what I have done to him. All I know is that it will take time. Time to heal. And I stand from his bedside, one last time. And leave him to dress in peace.

I huddle in the bathtub and descend into quiet tears.


	2. Part 2; Something Broken and Forged

_ **Part 2; Something Broken and Forged.** _

* * *

> _He's okay_
> 
> _because he lied._

* * *

Something unspoken hangs in the air. Time refuses to pass as simply as it did before.

Before that night where I drunkenly gave in to Forrest. Where I memorized the touch of his skin and the want in his kisses. I hear the tilt in the atmosphere that rises unease.

Forrest is true to his word—he does not ask me again.

Nor does he call me his ‘_girl’_ with that sweet, semi-curved smile that used to make my stomach leap and flutter with pride. He does not speak much at all.

He was always a man of very few words, but those words seem to have gone completely. He picks at his food with unease during meals. Avoids my eyes when I speak to him. Retires early to bed and barely says two words of warning, beforehand.

I fear I **did** break him. Fractured and tore pieces of his innocence away and dragged him head first into my world.

I took _too_ much. I was _too_ selfish. Too careless with what I permitted.

I know I should have stayed in my own room that night. Should have put away that last chilled-beer and retired. Let the haziness fade and morning streams of light wake me from my delusion.

But I can never take back the damage I have inflicted.

Forrest withdraws and suffers in silence.

I managed once to get him to speak with me at length. I saw a little spark behind his eyes—a flash of bliss and light—and just as quickly; it dwindled.

He let slip that he **loved** me.

Brief horror had written into his eyes—fear and realization.

He looked close to tears and clammed up for the rest of that night. Despite how I reassured him that I knew he loved me—I loved _him_ too.

I have **always** loved him.

He used to hug me—wrap me tight in searing warm heat. Curl in a bundle of quiet as we watched the television. Hold hands when we walked—little intimacies shared between best friends.

He no longer **touches** me.

I never could have imagined being **_untouched_** would spark such a disquiet within me.

There was a time when all I wanted was to be untouched—though that particular want never applied to Forrest.

Filth accumulated underneath my skin. Soared through my blood—it was as though he could finally see it, too.

I find I cannot blame him. I told him we could never be husband and wife. Took him to bed with lies and mistruths. Planned to flee again—but couldn’t.

I no longer know which is worse. Staying or going.

I have broken him **_regardless_**.

Worst of all I remember the joy in warm optics when he believed I would be his wife. When he believed we would have a lifetime of nights in his bed. Where I would finally be his pretty girl in a white dress. Did he really want the world to see and know I was his? Why would any man want that? With me?

Why would Forrest?

I noted the loss of hope in him. And I felt sheer pain engulf my heart.

Weeks passed and I lost track of time. All I knew was that Forrest was mentally absent. Which permitted me to tune out the world. I stayed for him—tiptoed across a fine line for him—but never felt as whole as I did that night in his arms.

With the fierce tension that encompassed the air; I forgot to think about consequences.

Our night, spent as husband and wife. Unthwarted by protective layers and thought.

And I found myself on my knees, before the toilet. Wiping the edge of my mouth—a foul taste on my tongue. Sleep still coated my eyes—but I knew what this meant. I knew why I woke to this sudden need to empty my stomach.

And I wanted to die.

Right there—I wanted to sink into the tiled-linoleum and never reemerge.

Every other man I allowed to fuck me—wore protection.

As a child I was too young to wear the implications of my father’s brutalization inside of me for nine months—and that was my **_only_** God-given mercy.

The universe made a sick joke out of my existence.

How can I stay now? How can I tell Forrest about the little life I will give birth to?

I have no want to **_kill_** Forrest’s baby. Any child of his would be pure and filled with light. His child would bring safety and comfort. The way he used to bring those things. I curled on the cold-tile and wrapped my arms around my middle.

I felt the settle of natural acid in my stomach. Heard the gurgle as everything calmed down and drew up my knees to my sensitive breasts. My nightgown scratched rough against my budded nipples. I tilted my head to rest on the wall.

What could I do now?

I cannot regret Forrest. Not his touch—not his kisses. I **_love_** him.

I feel worn thin and on the brink of collapse. I have no strength left to fight the ever-raging war in my mind. Between right and wrong. Good and bad.

I am tainted—inexplicably so.

And now I have dragged down a pure spirit by merely existing.

I let him have a wedding night without telling him of the consequences (or maybe he knew) and now I fear his reaction.

He will be crushed.

I could feel the night breeze through the cracked open window. And I focused on the blow of it over my achingly tired skin. Heard the ‘hoo’ of an owl in the far-off distance. And finally let tears of agony roll down my cheeks. Sobs choked my throat and warmth flooded my belly.

“Jennay? What’s wrong … Jennay?” I jumped and blinked furiously through the blinding trail of tears. I felt my cheeks enflamed with heat.

“F-Forrest …” I primed to lie. And it stuck on the tip of my tongue.

Because there he stood. Blue-striped pajama’s, sleepy even-keeled ocean-eyes, and his brown mop of hair rucked up on his head. I had clearly woken him. And all I could think about was the last few weeks, spent at odds with one another.

Him, afraid to show even the least speckle of affection—and me, unable to bypass my fears long enough to admit that I wish things were different.

I could not tell **_one_** more lie. Not to Forrest.

I scrambled into an upright position and wound my arms around him. Just like when we were children. When the stinging taint of my father was fresh on my skin and I made to curl up in his bed—Forrest had always held me. Even if he didn’t rightly understand what was wrong—he still held me tight.

And he did the same now. He tensed at first, but recovered and wound his arms around my middle. Brushed a careful hand through my lengthy strands of sun-kissed hair. I felt his want to ask me about it. But he did **not** ask again. He would go rigid when my hands clutched tight to his pajama’s. And after a long moment of compassionate silence I felt Forrest retract.

I missed his warmth just as soon as it was taken away. And I saw a flood of emotion pass his usually stoic face. Then, his eyes cast downward.

“There’s something wrong with me … isn’t there Jennay?” In all the time we were together—Forrest never once asked me a question like that. I am the one person that never judged him for his mental capacity. Never minded that he was a _simple_ man.

“There is nothing wrong with you, Forrest. Why would you say such a thing?” My heart pumped and I dried my eyes of tears. Sniffled, to unblock my nose.

“I hurt you … Didn’t I, Jennay?”

I could see genuine regret written into his gaze. Instant horror crept up my spine.

“Never, Forrest. You have **_never_** hurt me.” I was adamant. I have known physical and emotional pain from most everyone else—but not Forrest. There was not an unkind bone in his body. I doubt he is even capable to so much as swat a fly.

“But …” He glanced down nervously. His hands tight fists at his sides and I took note with silent anticipation. He clammed up and appeared close to tears himself.

“But what, Forrest? Tell me what you mean.” I was patient and rubbed his upper-arm in hesitant reassurance.

He jerked away from my touch, as though instinctually; and seemed to make up his mind. “You regret … what we did, Jennay …” he paused and seemed discontent with his own description. His eyes shifted, noticeably. “I hurt you when I … when we …” He took a step back and breathed heavy in his throat and out through his nose.

I stood, mouth agape in ever-consuming horror as I finally understood what he was speaking about. I had known better than to climb into his bed. Offer those false promises of marriage and eternity knowing I would not stay. He deserved a woman that **_could_** stay for him. That had a heart and a soul to offer him.

I **have** nothing. My father made certain—I **_am_** nothing.

“Forrest—” Tears welled up in my eyes, anew.

He stood and hyperventilated and shook his head with tears falling in quick succession down his cheeks.

“Listen to me, Forrest. You did not hurt me … Not even that night … I am fucked up, Forrest. It isn’t because of you … It will never be because of you. Our night together … It felt heavenly, Forrest. Your touch has always felt heavenly.” He avoided my eyes but this time, did not retract from my hold as I drew him into another embrace.

His limbs were shaking and his entire frame rattled hard against mine. I thought he might fall to pieces on me. Another thing occurred to me, suddenly.

“Is that why you have been afraid to touch me, Forrest? Because you think you have hurt me?” I sought out his ocean-eyes and found the truth buried in them.

His jaw clenched and he went quiet.

I cupped his cheeks and drew up on my toes to kiss him. He went rigid for a moment prior to returning the kiss. And when I retracted his breathing had calmed to a subtle rise and fall.

“You have always taken care of me, Forrest. You are a good man. And my best friend. I never want you to forget that … Never … You hear me?”

He appeared to survey me timidly with his eyes a moment or two, then gave a slow, reluctant nod.

“Then why are you sad, Jennay?” He touched a hand to my cheek and caught one of my tears that still fell.

It was my turn to draw away. I felt my stomach clench in sheer terror. What would Forrest think? What would he say? I knew better … I couldn’t deny I did.

“I’m gonna have a baby, Forrest. I’m going to be a Momma.” I wanted him to understand. I needed him to. And at the same time, I didn’t know what it would mean. What any of this would mean.

I shifted uncomfortably on the balls of my feet; listened for his acknowledgement of what I’d conveyed. He is simple-minded but I prayed he might understand … what it means to copulate. His actions that night portrayed a man starved for affection, like me.

I didn’t deserve his understanding then – and certainly deserve it even less now, but I seek it, like a candle to a matchstick, all the same.

I see his eyes harbor confusion. Hear his breath shiver through his shoulders and out his lungs. Does he understand?

“You’re gonna be a Momma?” his tone quakes as though contemplating how this could be true. How it happened.

I feel my stomach clench and burn with heat, threatening to spill its contents anew.

I put my hands on his arms, his shoulders, cup his cheeks. “Forrest,” I dare to whisper and let my breath kiss his lips.

He seems to understand then, he shakes his head, violently and backs away.

“No … What are you sayin’ Jennay?” his tone clips and breaks as tears wet his cheeks.

I cover my mouth and try to keep myself steady, balanced. I fear this is the moment I shall finally lose him for good. Can he finally see the taint I am? The burden of flesh and blood?

I gave him one night as my husband and the consequence is one, I will carry till my whole life is through.

I gather myself and lower my hands, “I’m gonna have your baby, Forrest.” I made it completely clear. No lies … no more lies.

I could see confliction in his blue-optics, that found a way to my middle. I could see his concentration, practically hear the slow gears of his brain, catching up.

So much flashed in his eyes: fear, love, betrayal, sadness.

Above all else, I could see an unhidden sadness.

He walked away.

I watched as he left the bathroom doorway, inched down the hall, and into his room, with a click.

I expected his anger. I expected him to finally, hate me, just as much as I hated myself.

I never expected that this time _he_ would be the one to **_run_** away.

I stood, dumbfounded for several minutes.

I wanted him to come back, I needed him to tell me everything would be okay. Just the same as he always has. I needed his innocence.

But I fear I have finally shredded apart the last bit of innocence he has.

I trailed to his door, listen in at the wood – all I can hear, are muffled sobs.

My heart shattered and I covered my mouth to stifle my own grief-riddled noises and made to flee to my own room. Where I curl underneath the covers and scream into my pillow.

* * *

He refused to come out of his bedroom for _four_ days.

His meals went untouched, his skin unwashed, and stubble, unshaved.

I tried to get him to talk to me, but he was silent as the dead.

I thought about running. I **_always_** run. It’s what’s best for everyone, Forrest included. But I don’t think it is best this time.

I no longer know what ‘_best’_ even means.

Is it what I believed? – My refusal to accept his unconventional marriage proposal? My breakage of wills the night I laid with him and helped conceive this life inside my womb? Or is it the choice I could never make? The choice to end this little life before it ever exists at all?

I don’t know.

I can never know.

Because I am not whole enough to see things properly. My skin is a strict, callous home of grime and putrid memories. My heart is untouchable, unfindable in this ocean of chaotic hellfire, that threatened (then followed through) on swallowing me, whole.

This is the first time I am unable to anticipate his needs. I no longer can navigate through my burdensome thoughts and steel through on the other side.

I don’t know what Forrest needs.

I’ve always known before.

Now, he’s a mystery. – A disjointed puzzle.

And I have to make a choice.

I stand outside his door, determination in my eyes.

I can’t permit this to continue. I won’t watch him die for my mistakes; my insecurities.

I enter his room without so much as a knock (he hadn’t been answering my knocks regardless) and climbed under the covers where he’d buried himself, like a groundhog, and ignored the scent of male-sweat and body odor. – I’ve known far worse things.

I find his cheek and brush against the curve of his jaw.

“Forrest? Please … talk to me … I’m not gonna go nowhere until you do,” I affirmed, “so, you might as well talk …” I’d only ever been careful with Forrest; kind.

I’ve never handled him with a rough word or unkind manner. This was the only time.

He was silent for a long time. I listened to his breathing sounds underneath the scope of blankets. I felt the burn of the air as it grew thin, but I stayed, determinedly, for him.

Finally, he spoke out, “You won’t marry me, Jennay …”

I stayed silent under the covers, unwilling to interrupt him. Relief filled my bones as I heard his first words to me since **_that_** morning.

“You said my touch is wonderful …” he heaved in a massive breath, “You promised you wouldn’t go away again … if I didn’t touch you … and I haven’t … I _haven’t_ touched you Jennay …”

I can see in the pitch darkness, underneath his oasis of blankets that his face is sullen. His eyes red and puffed with spilled tears. I _did_ this. I did this to my best friend.

Prior to the morning I had planned to run away – I’d never seen Forrest _cry_.

Now, I’ve seen him cry more than I’ve seen him smile, since then.

I hadn’t **_meant_** to … I’d tried to avoid it … but I have _ruined_ him.

I’ve _decimated_ him.

“Shh … Forrest, I know … I _know_ you haven’t—”

“You don’t **want** to be my wife … you don’t want my _babies_ … you don’t want to be my family … you’re gonna _leave_ me again, Jennay … I haven’t touched you, but you **_regret_** the night I did …” his thoughts spilled out in a discombobulated rush. All broken and disconnected but I understood what he meant. I know what he said, even if his words are unarticulated and broken apart from each other.

The night I’d meant to comfort him had turned sour in his mind. The memory I cherished, he regretted. Not for the reasons one might think, but because of everything I’ve said and **_done_** since.

I want to tear out my insides and die.

What I’ve done is irreversible to the man I love. To _this_ man who **_loves_** me.

I don’t know what to say, or how to fix it. What can I say that will fix any of this?

Jammed up close in his too-small, twin-sized, bed, burdened by a heap of blankets that feel suffocating, and salty tears that drip down his face and soak the sheets – I _panic_.

It’s internal. It’s all internal and I don’t know how to make reparations to his feelings.

I can’t _even_ fix my own.

I wanted to give him a night of love and peace; instead, I gave him multitudes more of unrest.

The _cost_ was too high. The gamble too **deep**.

My heart sings a wounded song of scars, and I know I have to reveal everything.

I can’t live in this madness, alone. I can’t let us both sink and I can’t let the spark I love in him, die.

If I am going to carve _him_ out of this hole, then I have to dig _myself_ out first.

I met my lips with his. Touched and pushed my tongue past the petals and tasted him. He retracted with a heart-wrenching sob – but I had to do that, just _once_, before I destroy myself forever in my **_only_** friend’s eyes.

I reached up to steady his cheeks in my hands. I thumb away tears and ready my thoughts to spill out.

“I lied to you, Forrest,” I whispered my rose-pink lips inches from his, “I’ve always wanted to be your wife. Since I met you, all I ever wanted was for you to hold me. To kiss me and love me, the way I never deserved. I lived in the shadows until we met on that yellow, school bus.”

I gathered my strength; he regarded me in silence.

“Daddy used to _hurt_ me, Forrest. You’ve seen the scars now,” I reiterate, lowering one of my hands to wind around his wrist and lay his palm to rest upon my hip, over my dress, where just underneath, the taint of scars resides. I blink to whisk away the memory of his trailed kisses over them in the dark.

I can see a familiar light of understanding; the same I saw that night.

“Daddy used to **_force_** me … and it used to hurt real bad, cause I was too _little_, do you understand, Forrest?” I choose my words carefully. I don’t want him to think I’m treating him as though he’s stupid, but I’m also unaware if he understands … **_rape_**.

A word I’ve known since I was far too young to comprehend it, but was whispered about by well-intentioned officers as they carted me away. It was _never_ rape to me – what Daddy did. It’s always been what **_I_** deserved. I’m the reason Momma died. She caught Scarlet Fever, from **_me_**.

Daddy needed a girl to warm his bed; to stave off loneliness.

I gave what he asked; and I took what beatings he eked out ‘cause I _deserved_ each one for killing Momma.

“He _hurt_ you,” Forrest’s voice was cracked, shuttered with sniffles.

I nodded my head. “You see, Forrest … I cannot be a **_good_** wife to you,” I paused, I didn’t like that explanation, I’d used it once before, “What Daddy did … he made me **_his_** wife, every night for a long while before the police took me away … and I …” I tightened my hand on the sheets, where it’d fallen after I released his arm, “I’m damaged, Forrest. I’m … _sullied_ by it. **_Impure_**.”

I let my eyes pierce his and felt the chill through my skin, down my bones, as I saw understanding reflected back at me.

“You’re saying it’d hurt you … it’d hurt you to be _my_ wife,” Forrest’s voice quavered.

My gaze had fallen when he started to talk and immediately shot back up, “_Yes_! -- I mean **_no_**!” I could feel my heart pound in my chest – it refused to settle; it seemed determined to pound a tattoo into my skin.

“He _called_ you **his** wife … but you were _just_ a little girl, Jennay … You’re grown up now,” he cemented what I already know – somewhere deep down, but the surface is still cracked and bled-through with dysfunction all the same.

“_You_ deserve a wife, Forrest. But you deserve a wife that has _never_ been a wife to her own Daddy. You deserve a wholesome girl. Someone _good_ who loves you. You’re right, my first instinct was to run when I found out about our baby, but it wasn’t because I _regret_ our night making him or her. Only, that I want you to have a chance at finding a _good_ girl; a girl that would _never_ hurt you, not as I have.” I let my soul spill out, so it is now bare to his eyes.

I let him feel my agony. I want him to see me for what I am. – For _who_ I am.

My Daddy’s **_whore_**.

I never deserved to be pure in Forrest’s eyes. I _know_ that. I’ve always known it.

But I never wanted to face that fact, because I never really _wanted_ to lose him.

I selfishly want him here, waiting for me; always.

“I don’t _want_ a good girl, Jennay. I don’t want **any** other girl. You’re **_my_** girl. I only want _you_.” Forrest spoke with such assurance in his southern tone. The likes of which I’d never heard from him before.

“If I was a smart girl I would have run away. I would have never let you fall so hard,” I whisper in the dark oasis of blankets, “You should be disgusted, Forrest. You should be _repulsed_ that I have your baby inside of me …”

I can see his gaze flicker – the _hope_ dwindles.

“Are _you_, Jennay …?” his voice grew so small I can barely hear it.

“Am I what, Forrest?” I felt his hand retract from where I’d planted it on my hip. Watched him curl away from me, his back against the wall.

“Disgusted to have **_my_** baby?”

I want to claw my skin off. I want to **_scream_**. I want to sob and insist that it was all just a lie. I was _never_ pregnant. I never was _touched_ by Daddy … that I am a fucking **_liar_**.

But I can’t. Because I’m not. I’ve just caused a lot of pain and detriment to the man that I complicatedly, love.

“I shouldn’t have said that, Forrest.” I inch toward him and he stiffens. “I could never be disgusted with _your_ baby, Forrest. You’re pure and good, you’re everything that I can _never_ be. And your baby will bring me only _joy_. But I fear that I can bring you only **heartache** and pain.”

He lowers his eyes.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Forrest,” I ask, slowly.

His ocean-eyes jet up to match mine.

“I only wanted to be your _husband_, Jennay,” he says.

“I know, Forrest,” I secede.

“But being my wife makes you _think_ of your Daddy … Makes you think of **_bad_** things … and I don’t want to be _bad_ to you, Jennay. I promised I’d _never_ ask … I promised I’d _never_ touch … You don’t have to be _my_ wife, Jenny … You never **_have_** to be my wife … Just don’t go away, Jennay … don’t take the _baby_ away … it’ll be **_my_** family … my family … cause it hurts **_you_** to be my family …”

I’ve never heard Forrest talk as much as he has today. I’ve never known him to articulate his thoughts. He’s always been simple. Simple Forrest. Loving Forrest.

A good _soldier_. A good **_friend_**.

But, were my heart not already in tatters before I ever came into his bedroom – possibly even before I stepped foot in his house – it would have shattered the rest of the way, right now.

Into _little_ bits.

I lean forward and scoop him into my arms, cradle his head to my chest, and rock him in a soothing motion. It’s all that I can do.

I meant to fix it. But I should have known I could never fix what I’ve done.

The mess and whirlwind I’ve created. I can do damage control – I can try.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay, I’ll always stay. Our baby, too. It’s _ours_, Forrest. Mine and yours. And your touch _doesn’t_ hurt me. It’s not like Daddy’s. I’m bigger now, just like you said. When we joined … when you were _inside_ me …” I want to look him in the eye – I need to. I retract just enough to do just that, and our eyes meet in the dark under the blankets. “It made me the happiest I’ve ever been, Forrest. I didn’t deserve it, mind … but I love you more than any wife could _ever_ love her husband. It doesn’t hurt me to be your family, Forrest. You **_are_** my family.”

I tilted my chin and connected our lips. I needed to _feel_ okay again – and I needed **_him_** to be okay.

Our baby needs to be okay.

It was cruel of me to tell Forrest that he can’t touch me. Crueler still to let him believe I wasn’t his family. He’s _too_ simple – too pure – and I can never follow through with shredding his last ounce of hope.

This baby; **_our_** baby … he sees it as a beacon of hope, same as I do.

And we both need hope.

So, I sigh against his lips and draw back. I can see the tears stained under each eye and I can feel his body’s reaction to mine.

Natural – the same as the night we made our child.

I lowered my hand; glimpsed the fabric with my fingers, brushing against his erection.

He shivered and all his muscles tensed.

“Jennay … I promised—”

“It’s okay, Forrest,” I whispered in a low drawl, “I want you to.”

I could see traces of confusion in his eyes – and I could hear the rise of his breath in the confined, tight, space under his covers.

“Why, Jennay?” he asked soft trembles in his voice.

I knew the answer immediately – it should have been there the whole time.

“Because I’ll marry you, Forrest. Because I love you … and because … because you’re right. I am your family and the past … the past just needs to be the past.”

I still feel unworthy, but know that once Forrest’s heart is set there will be no changing it. Despite how much time I give, despite how much I wish I could give him an undamaged woman … he’s Forrest and he’ll never want those things. He’ll pine for me until his last breath and I can’t condemn him to a life of solitude. Not after I gave him a taste of his dream.

I know I’ve been selfish; I’ve always known that … but I can’t be that anymore.

I’m going to be a Momma and he’s going to be a Daddy and I need to start acting like a parent.

I need to settle down.

Forrest is nervous – and reaches out in the dark – cups my cheek in warmth and hesitation. I can feel him tremble.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jennay …” his voice trails off, eyes sadden.

“I know, Forrest. And you won’t. You’re not like, Daddy. You’re gentle and warm. You touch me with love and I’ve never been afraid of you.” I whispered.

He makes a noise in his throat and dips down, stealing the softest of kisses from my lips. I feel my muscles relax and allow him to draw me in closer until our fronts are touching all the way up.

I’m breathless and for the first time in my life, unafraid. I have no reason to run again, ever again, not now that Forrest knows the truth. It’s like a weight lifted off of me. And I couldn’t explain it, I doubt I ever will be able to.

Forrest is gentle as he coaxes my nightgown over my head, his lips find solace at my belly, where the scars begin. He kisses me, same as he did that night.

When he’s done; one of his hands rest over the space that doesn’t yet show even a slight protrusion, where our baby resides, and he brushes me there with wonder.

I see a twinkle in his eye – the hope I want to fight to keep in him.

He’s soft when he leans to kiss the space.

And I peer into his blue-eyes, “Make me yours, again, Forrest. Like the first time.” I push my hand underneath his pajama pants, stroking the length of his erection, in case he was even the least bit unclear what I was asking.

He collided our lips and I opened for him, his body nestled between my thighs and he pushed up inside me, in one fell swoop. I moaned as he worked his hips and I gave in to Forrest.

I gave in to him; **_entirely_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you all for your patience! I am enjoying exploring these two characters. I've always wanted to write a fanfic for these two and I finally pulled myself together and did it! I believe I will end this in one final part, so stay tuned! _


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